


can't sleep love

by misbehavin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Nearly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Pining, Queer Sam Winchester, Queer Themes, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 00:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbehavin/pseuds/misbehavin
Summary: “I won't kick you out of your room,” he takes one, two steps out into the corridor, like the decision has been made.“Oh my god, Cas, that's stupid. C'mon, just stay here. I promise you it's fine.”Castiel squints.“Look, how about we share? We can do that, if that's alright with you,” Sam adds, before he actually thinks it through.“Are you sure?”“Yeah. It's not a big deal.”Itisa big deal. But Sam wills himself to not think about it at all, to devoid himself of feeling.(Or: Cas takes residence in Sam's room. Sam is pining hard after him, of course.)
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 178





	can't sleep love

**Author's Note:**

> WELL. Who would've thought this 2k fic would take me months to finish... But anyway, here it is! I miss my babies so much and although I've given up watching the show I don't think I'll be able to stop writing fics of them until I ran out of ideas and, let me tell you, I haven't (I have so many fics planned out you guys... jfc). So, yay?!  
Sorry for any mistakes and hope you like it! This could prooobably be set after the episode in which Sam tells Castiel to go to his room and watch Netflix but, as the tag I added, Timelines What Are Timelines, who cares!! Just let me know if you also think Sam & Cas literally sleep together and that's just cANON and also the only thing that matters

Sam had a plan. It was a simple, easy plan, the same plan he’s been executing his whole life over and over, across the years and in every state: he was going to ignore it until went away. Or until it got hidden in some distant part of him along with everything else, everything he wished he could feel good about but is unspeakable, everything he’s ever felt and thought and asked for without really asking, every sin upon sin upon sin. 

Of course, however, the plan doesn’t work. Not this time.

  
  
  


When they get back home, Sam finds Castiel asleep in his bed, curled around one of the pillows. On the computer, Netflix is asking ARE YOU STILL WATCHING? and the low light from the screen would make the room seem eerie for anyone else, but Sam finds comfort in it. It's almost peaceful.

He’s tired and plans on taking a change of clothes and bunking out in another room for the night so as to not disturb Cas, but after he quietly closes a drawer, a voice says, still rough with sleep, “Sam. You’re back.”

“Yeah,” Sam whispers back, deeply apologetic. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

“No,” says Cas, tangled in the sheets and struggling to sit, “This is your room. I should go.”

“Dude, it’s fine. Just go back to sleep.”

Cas takes a deep breath. He sounds even more alert when he says, “You’re hurt.”

Sam smiles, and he knows it probably looks more like a frown. “No more than usual.”

With his hair messy and one side of his face slightly more pink than the other, Castiel looks both cute and angry. It makes Sam's chest ache.

“Sam.”

Sam makes an effort to keep looking him in the eyes. “What?”

In a few seconds, Cas gets out of the bed and walks up to him. His hand hovers close to Sam's forehead. “May I?”

“You shouldn't waste—”

“Making you feel better is no waste,” Castiel spats back, like it's an argument he's specifically tired of having. “Now, please. May I?”

Before Sam is even done nodding a wave of relief is already washing over him, healing any and every trace of physical wounds.

“Thank you,” he says, turning around to leave, still tired despite his friend's efforts. “Goodnight, Cas.”

As he walks away, Cas keeps in step with him. It's only when they reach the door he suspects something's up.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Castiel tilts his head to the side.

“I'm going to find another room to rest.”

“What? No, you can stay here, it's fine, really.”

“I won't kick you out of your room,” he takes one, two steps out into the corridor, like the decision has been made.

“Oh my god, Cas, that's stupid. C'mon, just stay here. I promise you it's fine.”

Castiel squints. 

“Look, how about we share? We can do that, if that's alright with you,” Sam adds, before he actually thinks it through.

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. It's not a big deal.”

It _is_ a big deal. But Sam wills himself to not think about it at all, to devoid himself of feeling. It's better to not even hope; easier.

There's an awkward pause and then Castiel walks back into the room, slowly approaching the bed without taking his eyes off Sam as if to guarantee he'll be actually staying.

Sam changes into a clean shirt, then makes his way towards the bed as well. He lays on his side, his back to Cas, curls into himself as much as he can.

He's almost asleep when a hand touches his arm lightly.

“You don't have to try and make yourself smaller,” whispers Cas.

Sam breathes out. He turns around, facing his friend. It shouldn't surprise him that Castiel is really, really close, but it does anyway. Every part of Sam wants to move even closer, bury himself in Cas’ warmth, hide there and never leave. He keeps his eyes closed, indulges that silly fantasy for a few moments. Then he remembers, the plan is to be patient, to wait for this to go away— except, with each passing day, Sam doubts it ever will.

“I just don't want to make you uncomfortable,” he says. And sure, that's only half true. Not that it matters.

Castiel doesn't move. “You could never make me uncomfortable.”

Sam snorts. “Okay.”

“It's true.”

“Okay,” repeats Sam.

“It’s the exact opposite, actually. I'm very comfortable in your presence.”

Sam opens one of his eyes. “I said _okay_, Cas.”

Letting out a loud sigh, Castiel continues, brows furrowed, “You're being weird and I don't understand why.”

Sam holds back a surprised laughter. “Cas, just go back to sleep, alright.”

For a second, Castiel looks like he's about to protest. Then he doesn't.

Minutes after Sam has closed his eyes, he can feel Cas is somewhat tense still, like there's a number of things he's left unsaid and it's suddenly weighing down on him. Sam takes another peek and finds Cas… Watching him. 

Taken aback he blinks, surprised and visibly guilty.

“What are you doing?” Sam says, and it very much sounds like, _stop staring at me_.

“Nothing,” says Castiel, closing his eyes. “I'm going to try to sleep again, like you said.”

“Right. Goodnight, then.”

There's a long pause until he hears Cas’ voice.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

  
  


* * *

Castiel takes residence in Sam's room from that point on. He's there when Sam wakes up, often reading, and he's there when Sam comes home from a trip to wherever, as if he hadn't moved a muscle in hours and hours. It's disconcerting the first few times Sam walks in to find him there, like he isn't particularly fond enough of any other place inside the bunker to consider it worth spending any amount of time there. Eventually Sam grows used to it, to a certain extent. He appreciates the company more than he could say, but there are times when he thinks it could be becoming too much. It would definitely be easier if he didn't have this at all. Wouldn't hurt as much when it's inevitably taken away.

Like for instance, the way Cas will slip into his soft, light-yellow PJs — because Sam has told him he deserved to be more at ease at home and relax in comfy clothes —, and then slip under the covers. There are nights when he doesn't sleep, and yet it doesn't stop him from being there, by Sam's side, on a bed that barely fits them both. It's a quiet intimacy Sam hasn't had in who knows how long, and he's not ready to— he _can't_ move on from this, even though he knows he has to.

“You're upset,” states Castiel.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “Got a lot on my mind, that's all.”

“I'm here if you want to talk. I'll listen.”

Sam swallows. “No, I— I'm good. But thank you.”

He closes his eyes, forces himself to rid his mind of thinking. But it's no use. How did he get here? How could he allow this to happen? He'd already made peace with never getting deeply, truly involved with anyone anymore, to have no attachments beyond his brother, the only family he has left. He's been so sure for so long that this would never happen again — this electric, soothing feeling in his pulse —, that now that it's here, he's at a loss. The plan is always to wait for it to go away, and it has worked several times in the past, but now… Now it seems childish and utterly useless. He loves — and he _loves_, and _loves_ and _loves_, so much and so true it almost hurts to even acknowledge it louder than a whisper. But the reality of it it's undeniable, even in the silence.

Cas looks at him with such kind eyes and understanding that Sam can see, crystal clear: this won't go away. No matter how hard he tries.

A long moment later, he realizes Cas is neither watching anything on Netflix nor getting ready to rest. 

"You're not gonna sleep?" Sam asks, looking up at him.

"No," Castiel answers, resolute. "Today I think I'll just watch over you."

* * *

Sam does as planned and ignores the whirlwind inside him as much as he can. He ignores it when they stand too close in the kitchen, and when Cas borrows a shirt of his, and when Cas quotes poetry off the top of his head.

One day, when it's way past midnight and they're playing silly card games, pillows stacked as a makeshift table between them, Castiel laughs at Sam's fourth defeat in a row, and it makes Sam's whole body feel weird, like his soul is somehow trying escape just to capture the sound of Cas' laugh, dance with it and never let go. 

He shakes his head, re-shuffles the deck, and, as planned, ignores that too. 

* * *

To say Sam didn't expect it would be a lie. He'd pushed the thought to the back of his mind, though he hoped for it to happen. 

And then it does.

Early morning arrives, many days later, and he finds Cas dappled half on top of him. His head rests against Sam's chest, his arm hugs his middle, his leg is between Sam's thighs.

Quietly, Sam takes a deep breath. He's alert now, completely awake. He enjoys the weight of Cas on him, how peaceful he looks and how amazing he is, overall. Even the weird shape of Cas' ear plastered against his chest feels good, and the warmth of his body... That too makes Sam hesitate to wake him up. 

He swallows, his hand coming up to touch Castiel's back. His eyes burn and his throat closes up as he remembers, _this isn't going away_.

"Sam, I can sense you're upset again," says Cas, voice rough from sleep. "Has something happened?"

Sam stills.

A multitude of things cross his mind and he picks apart each one of them before responding. He could politely ask Cas to leave, for a while at least, but the truth is that he won't kick him out. Wouldn't. He could ask his brother for advice but there would be a lot of eye-rolling involved. He could just own it and tell Cas. Or maybe just show it. Or he could pretend this right here is enough for the rest of his life and never say anything — and that at least would be safer. Maybe.

"I'm gonna hug you, okay?" Sam announces, wrapping both arms around Cas tight. 

Castiel snuggles closer, his arms pressing hard against Sam's side in an attempt to hug back.

The room stays quiet for the longest time.

Then it's over and Castiel lifts up from Sam's chest and sits, one of his hands still perched on Sam's waist. His eyes are still droopy as he starts speaking, "I want to thank you. What you have been doing for me, as I settle into this new life, I… I appreciate it very much."

Sam clears his throat, thinks about sitting up but decides against it. His head feels light. Castiel's hand is now resting on the middle of his torax, above his abdomen. It's very warm. "I haven't really done anything."

"Yes, you have," Castiel affirms, "You have been making me breakfast and teaching me how to cook. You watch documentaries on Netflix with me and keep me company, and essentially, you take care of me. I didn't… I understand I may be difficult sometimes, but you," he swallows, "You never give up on me. So thank you."

"Cas, that's not— It's really not that big of a deal," he shakes his head, rubs his eyes. "You may it sound like you being here is a chore, when it's the opposite."

Castiel closes his eyes briefly, breathes in and out.

"What I mean," he says, adjusting his posture, "is that you make me feel like I belong. And I appreciate that, I guess more than words can say."

Sam reaches for Cas' hand on his chest and holds it there, close to his heart.

"What are you talking about? You _do_ belong here. Don't ever doubt that."

There's a pause.

Cas looks like he wants to argue but instead he asks, suddenly, "Can I kiss you?"

Sam gapes. "What?"

"I want to kiss you," Cas insists. He's already too close but manages to scooch closer. "Can I?"

Sam alternates looking at Castiel's eyes, bright despite the room's dimness, and at his lips. His throat feels ten times more dry.

"Why?"

"Does it need a reason?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam exclaims. "It kinda does."

Cas frowns. "Because I want to."

"You need to give me a little more than that."

"We are good together," starts Cas, his free hand reaching out to lay atop Sam's, so he's effectively holding his hand between his. It's deliberate, of course, but along with everything else it seems instinctive. He's speaking in a calm tone and saying his words with the conviction of a late-night confession, and it all feels so natural it's almost as if it's happened a hundred times before. "We're good friends," he continues, "We understand each other, in a subatomic level. I've held your soul in my hands. I've killed people I've known for thousands of years to protect you, and I'd do it again. You're the first person I ever wanted to hug and today I can't imagine a life where we don't save one another. So, yes, here, now, I want to know how it would be like to kiss you."

Sam runs his free hand on his face. He chuckles, almost hysterical. "This can't be happening."

"Why not?"

"Are you sure?" Sam asks instead of replying. He leans forward on his elbow, their faces inches apart. "Because if— if we do this— I'm scared that if I start I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

"It's all right," Cas nods, visibly amused. "I don't want you to."

Sam blows a shuddering breath. He holds the back of Castiel's neck, looks into his eyes hoping that conveys he's in this for real, "I really like you, you know."

"I really like you as well," Cas smiles, no teeth but full of truth. 

He bends down to press his mouth to Sam's, a caress at first more than anything. 

"Not to ruin the mood but," Sam says, wincing a little. "Maybe we could brush our teeth first?"

With a theatrical groan Castiel drags him by the hand. After they fix _that_, they go back to bed and, despite the uncontrollable laughter at the good turnabout of things, resume what they started. A lingering press of lips then the kiss gets deeper, harder, full of passion. Cas lets Sam pull him down, their bodies flushed. 

"I want you to feel like this is your home," mutters Sam, mouth hot on Cas' throat, "Okay?"

Underneath him, Cas sighs.

"Okay," he says, nodding.

"Cas."

"_Okay, _Sam."

Sam chuckles, feeling lighter as Cas' lips meet his again, and all he's been hiding pushes forward, spills out in every touch. Everything he felt and thought and asked for without really asking; all the tenderness and truth and forgiveness.

It doesn't go away.


End file.
